


Who's Your Manny?

by BanimalQ



Series: Mannylock [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Nanny, Attachment Parenting, Emmi Pikler, Gen, Mannylock, Nanny John, Nanny Sherlock, attempted plot, babywearing, manny - Freeform, mannyverse, stroller porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 09:05:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2575874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BanimalQ/pseuds/BanimalQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John are both mannies (male nannies). They meet one day in the park. John's POV</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ranting at Hedges

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hannahrieu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahrieu/gifts).



> This would not have been possible if not for hannahrieu, she beta'd the hell out of it. I'm not sure why she is still talking to me after all the messages I sent her while working on this. 
> 
> This was originally posted on our [blog](http://fanlock.wordpress.com/2014/11/05/manny/)
> 
> I've got another chapter in the works, and have been toying with the idea of actually giving this a bit of plot, but I guess that depends on if you like it :)

“Oh, there’s a girl. What’s wrong, love?” John bounced Isla in his arms, perched on a bench in the secret garden nestled in Regent’s Park. John preferred coming here when he just had Isla, as the playgrounds were always full of nosey nannies during the school day. Besides, Isla was always mesmerized by the clematis creeping up the pergola, and John felt as if he was headed into his own Wonderland, where they could get lost for hours, or at least until he was needed for pick up at nursery.

An application filled out on a whim during his last days in sixth form had turned John’s gap year into almost three. Working for the Bennett’s had not only given him a job, but a family. Well, a normal, functioning family. With his father dead, mother a drunk, and sister not heard from in five years, John had found it easy to move into the Bennett’s home and meld his life into theirs. 

On days like this John never questioned why he stayed with the Bennett’s after that first summer. His contract had been for a summer nanny, or manny in his case, traveling on holiday with the family before their third child, Elsi, was born. The older boys, Theo and Luca, had been a delight to care for. They spent the summer traipsing around Europe, exploring old cities and building sandcastles on Mediterranean beaches. John quickly forgot about life before meeting the Bennett family and when the time came to prepare the home for the arrival of it’s newest member, John knew he could not leave.

The same feeling of loyalty and belonging overwhelmed John in the last year when the Bennett’s found out they were having another child. While John held Isla, just three months old, in his arms, all thoughts of joining the army or going to medical school left him. He didn’t know that this was where he would end up, but he wouldn’t change it for anything. 

As he soothed Isla and got her back snug into the ring sling, John noticed a man standing next to a pushchair. While this would not give John reason to pause normally, the man was wearing a bespoke suit that probably cost more than John’s entire wardrobe and seemed to be ranting at a hedge. He was tall with dark hair and ghostly white skin. Even standing still he seemed to radiate confidence and grace. After a minute or so of blatantly watching the man (John would not think on the reasons why just now) John heard the plaintive cries of an infant coming from the carrycot. Immediately the tall man froze, a look of panic crossing his face before he schooled his features back into indifference and started addressing the pushchairs occupant. John’s body began to move towards the pushchair before he realized what he was doing as the cries gathered force and the man seemed more agitated.

“Morning,” John announced as he approached. The man stopped mid sentence to face John and his steps faltered as he made contact with the most piercing gray eyes he had ever seen.

“It would seem so,” he replied blandly. His eyes quickly glancing over John and Isla. John could not help but feel that he had been judged and was found wanting.

“Excuse me?” John trailed off. He was not certain what the man was talking about and quite honestly forgot for a moment why he was standing there until another cry came from the pushchair. “Hello there, love,” he said to the little bundle, taking a step closer and gently reaching his hand out. “You seem to have a lot to say this morning.” John looked up and found the gray eyes still focused on him. He cleared his throat, “Have you an extra nappy with you?” he asked the man.

“A nappy?”

“Yes, your little love seems to be in need of a nappy change.” John hesitantly says, trying to keep eye contact with the stranger.

“Oh. Well, yes. That could quite possibly be the reason for her cries. Research does point to discomfort being a reason that infants cry, hunger and fatigue being other causes of distressing cries. It would not be hard to extrapolate that she was caused discomfort by a dirty nappy, as her outfit is quite fitting for the current weather,” the man finally responded awkwardly with a bit of hesitation that didn’t look quite right on him and bent to pull a bag out of the bottom of the pushchair. 

As John’s brain started to come back online he noticed that it wasn’t any pushchair, but a Stokke Xplory, every nannies dream. If you’re going to put them in a contraption, it just as well be that one, John thought with a twinge of envy that he quickly pushed aside. Without ever sitting down to formally think on it, John’s caregiving style had gradually shown to be very in line with the attachment parenting philosophy. After Elsi came along, he found he was unable to do most of his daily tasks as he constantly had her in his arms. A long conversation with Sarah, a friendly nanny he met at the playground, opened his eyes to the world of baby carriers. He had never been one for the BabyBjorn, but quickly took to the ring sling that Sarah lent him. While babywearing was his preferred way to transport his little ones, he always seemed to drool over the pushchairs with the carrycot option.

John cleared his throat as the man stood, awkwardly holding a large bag. “Ah, John Watson. That is. My name. Ah, I’m John.” A blush started to creep up John’s neck. Why was he so nervous? It’s not as if he hadn’t introduced himself to a stranger before, even one as posh and gorgeous as this man. 

“This should have a nappy,” the stranger resolutely ignored John’s bumbling and held the bag at arms length towards John. It gave John pause that the man did not move to the infant in the pushchair or to rummage through the bag. They both stood for a moment looking at each other before John broke and took the bag. He moved to a nearby bench assuming the man would follow.

“Let’s see here,” he said, as he opened the zipper and began to look through what seemed to be a weeks worth of clothing, nappies, and bottles. “Ah, here we go, a nappy and some wipes.” While the man had indeed followed John, he again didn’t move to take the proffered items. “Have you ever changed a nappy before?” John asked with a slight smirk betraying his amusement.

“Yes. That is, not . . . exactly. I mean to say . . .” The stranger seemed to grow more flustered as John’s smirk blossomed into a broad smile. John set the items on the bench next to him and stood, motioning for the man to take his place. He sat uncomfortably, back ramrod straight, and seemed to be waiting for John to continue. John read his hesitation and handed over the changing pad with instructions on how to lay it out. Isla chose that moment to make her presence known to the men who were all but ignoring her.

“I’m here, love,” murmured John, as he started swaying gently, and began to give instructions to the dark haired man on how to pick up the infant and changed her very wet nappy. The strangers movements, while naturally graceful, were halted, as if he was terrified with how fragile the infant seemed in his lithe hands. John had never seen a nappy change go on so long, but he supposed that for a novice it would take some practice.

“You seem to be somewhat of an expert in the area of nappies,” the man spoke as he was placing the girl back in her basket. He kept his eyes on the child, even after she was safely tucked in.

“I don’t know about expert, but Isla is my second baby. I mean to say that she is the second infant I have cared for. She’s not mine. I mean, she’s my charge. Uh, I’m her . . .” John stuttered to an abrupt stop, inwardly sighing. It seemed his brain would only allow for complete sentences if the topic was nappy changes.

“Her manny.” the stranger stated, his voice dripping with disgust. The blush continued to creep up John’s neck into his cheeks. John was not ashamed of his vocation. While he had fallen into it by complete chance, he now took great pride in his work. There was something about this man that unnerved him though. He’d be damned if he let this posh git make him feel shame for his life choices.

“Yes. I am her manny. I have spent three years with her family and I care for each of Isla’s siblings as if they were my own. I give them the love and respect they deserve. And I am a bloody good caregiver!” his voice, and blush, rising as he continued, feeling slightly out of breath and tense at the end. He took a deep breath and continued, “You are very welcome for the help, you may want to think about making up a bottle, she’ll probably be needing it soon.” And with that, John turned and started walking away, head held high even as he felt himself shaking on the inside. He had only gotten four steps away when a baritone voice called out, hesitantly, “Wait.”

John stopped and paused a second before he wrapped his arms around Isla and turned. He tried to school his face into the indifference he had seen the man display earlier. Moments passed and neither man moved nor spoke.

The dark haired stranger dropped his gaze. “Sherlock Holmes,” he said abruptly, then paused again. John didn’t dare move, afraid he would scare the man off. “My name is Sherlock. And. Thank you for your assistance. It seems I was not as adequately prepared for a trip out as I thought. Would you mind assisting me in the preparation of a bottle?” He looked up, seeming to prepare himself for battle as he forced out his request. John could feel the tension leave his shoulders as he allowed himself a small smile, mostly noticeable around his deep blue eyes. He knew an apology when he heard one, and from what little he had deduced, the man was practically groveling at John’s feet.

“Of course, we’d love to help, wouldn’t we, Isla? You’re a pro at making bottles now aren’t you? You’ll be putting me out of a job once you figure out how to move that little body of yours,” rambled John as he closed the distance to the bench and moved the pushchair a bit and sat on the bench next to Sherlock. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Sherlock,” said John as he held his hand out.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he glanced at the offered hand, a slight sneer coming to his lips. “You were up most of the night worrying over your future, regretting not going on to university after your gap year, which cause you to sleep through your alarm this morning and have a slightly embarrassing encounter with the housekeeper when she walked into your room while you were rushing about to put on that hideous jumper. In your haste to get the children to school on time you ate the leftover bits off their breakfast plates. And judging from the spot on your chest fish pie was served last night, which you dislike for sentimental reasons.”

“That was . . . amazing. Wait. How did you know what we had for dinner? Never mind, it doesn't matter, that was extraordinary. It was quite extraordinary!” John beamed at Sherlock. He was still trying to figure out how Sherlock could have known that they had fish pie the evening before from spit up when Sherlock interrupted his musings.

“That’s not what people normally say,” he replied, with a bit of hesitation. 

“And what do people normally say?” John was truly curious, turning his focus back to Sherlock. 

“Piss off?” Sherlock offered. At that, a giggle emerged from John. He attempted to stifle it, but it continued up as a smile came to Sherlock’s face. That was all John needed for permission to start wholeheartedly laughing, and to his amazement, Sherlock joined in. 

John loosened the ring sling and laid Isla on his legs as their laughter died down, and removed the messenger bag that Sherlock hadn’t noticed John was wearing. He took a fresh cloth nappy from within his bag and deftly changed the small girls diaper. As both infants were so young, John placed Isla in the carrycot alongside the other girl without hesitation. 

“And what is this beautiful girls name?” John asked while gently stroking smooth cheek of the infant.

“Lucy. She is quite unremarkable for an infant of her age. Temperament seems to be the deciding factor on adults thinking a child is attractive or not. Though she does exhibit symmetrical features and blonde hair and light blue eyes are favorable to the general population, however that may change in time.” Sherlock awkwardly stated. John’s gaze had moved from the girls’ to the man beside him as he continued on his diatribe on infantile beauty. When Sherlock stopped for air, he noticed the man’s eyes on him, another smile coming to the blonde man’s lips. John quickly looked back to Lucy.

“Lucy, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m John and this is Isla. Sherlock has been regaling us with tales of your beauty,” he stated, a snort coming from the tall man next to him. “Well, let’s see if we can’t get some breakfast ready for the two of you. I’m sure you’ll be hungry soon.”

With that, John stood, stowed the ring sling and bag in the basket under the pushchair and took a few steps before turning back to Sherlock. “Coming?” he asked. “I’m sure you know of The Garden Cafe. We can go there and have a cup of tea while we feed the girls.” And with that he turned and started walking up the path, again leaving Sherlock to follow.


	2. The Family Manny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bottle making and spit up ensues. Sherlock's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wouldn't have actually done this without the support of [hannahrieu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahrieu/pseuds/hannahrieu/), she is an amazing beta and friend. And also my twinsy (who hasn't succumbed to the fanfic vortex), who read and encouraged me along the way.
> 
> I have no idea where this story is going after this, so it may be a bit before I update again. If you have any ideas you can find me on the [blog](http://www.fanfic.wordpress.com/html/) or sosickyetsobeautiful on tumblr.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Sherlock wasn’t used to his body exhibiting such hesitation. It was as if the presence of an infant was causing his body to cease in responding to what his brain was telling it to do. Surely it could not be the presence of this man, unassuming and normal, that threw him off balance. Though John did react unlike anyone else when faced with his deductions. Brilliant, I believe he said, interesting, Sherlock thought to himself as he quickly caught up with the shorter man. John kept up a running commentary to the girls as Sherlock attempted to quickly sort out the issues his brain was having that morning.

As they came to the door of The Garden Cafe, Sherlock stood just to the right of John’s arm. He told himself it was because Lucy was in the pushchair and he needed to keep an eye on her, resolutely ignoring any of his wayward brains other suggestions. They were seated outside, the sun deciding to stay out for a bit longer that morning, much to their delight.  After John got the pushchair settled between himself and Sherlock he ordered two teas and a cup of hot water. Sherlock could not imagine how John was intending to get a baby to drink hot water. Maybe they prefer diluted tea, he thought, as he watched John reach into the messenger bag again and pull out a small zipper bag. Out of it he took a small bottle filled with milk, then replaced the bag and looked expectantly at Sherlock.

“I’ll just assume you haven’t made a bottle either, shall I?” And with that, John reached for the large black bag and set about finding a bottle and some powdered formula. He placed the items in front of Sherlock and began to walk the bewildered man through making up a bottle. As Sherlock was shaking the bottle to mix it’s contents the waitress arrived with their tea and hot water. John placed Isla’s bottle into the water to warm and told Sherlock that Isla preferred her bottles warmed up a bit and did Sherlock know Lucy’s preference. It was plain from the look of panic that flitted across the mans face that he hadn’t a clue.

“Well then, let’s just pop in in the hot water for a bit and see if she takes it.” John offered, as he took Isla in his arms and settled her with a flannel near her chin. Sherlock mimicked John’s actions after fumbling through the bag for a suitable cloth. John told him to test the milk to make sure it hadn’t gotten too warm, which gave Sherlock pause until John motioned to his wrist. For such a tiny little creature there was certainly a multitude of details to know that Sherlock could not have predicted when he left the house this morning. Thankfully, John was focused on feeding Isla and not on Sherlock’s fumbling attempts to get Lucy to take the bottle.

It was only after several minutes when both girls were contentedly eating that John looked up at Sherlock. “So,” he started slowly, “I take it your wife is usually the one out with Lucy?” John attempted nonchalance, but his curiosity was overwhelming.

Sherlock looked up, his eyes piercing into John’s. “Wife? Not really my area,” he replied vaguely. John paused a moment while his brain processed the statement. His mouth forming a small ‘oh’ as he made a realization. “Alright . . . so, husband then? Which is fine, by the way. It's all fine.” John had no idea why he continued talking.

“No.” Sherlock stated flatly. And wouldn’t you know, John’s mouth kept on talking, “Okay. You’re unattached. Like me.” He paused, his eyes darting back and forth between Lucy’s sky blue and Sherlock’s gray eyes. “Fine. Good.” Eventually John was able to regain control of his mouth and he clamped his lips shut. They both turned their attention back to the task at hand for a few awkward moments.

“John, I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm really not looking for any . . .” Sherlock stopped talking, a slight blush creeping into his impossibly high cheekbones. Isla had finished eating and John propped her on his shoulder as he indicated Sherlock to do the same with Lucy.

“No. I’m not asking you . . . I’m just saying, well, you do seem to be in possession of a child.” Sherlock’s eyes narrowed for a brief moment as John’s statement began to process before they widened and he glanced down to the baby he was awkwardly holding against his suit.

“Oh, the baby, yes, I see . . .” What Sherlock could see was that he was going to take himself to Bart’s as soon as possible and commandeer Molly and a CAT scan machine, as he was obviously under the effects of a brain tumor or something else equally as terrible. He had not felt like such a bumbling fool since, well, he had never felt like a bumbling fool before. And here he was making a complete idiot of himself.

Lucy chose that moment to spit up on Sherlock’s shoulder, distracting them from the question. After some juggling of babies and Sherlock’s insistence that John was actually doing more harm trying to clean the spot on the suit than Lucy had, the two men started to gather their things.

“Well, we’d better be off, we can’t be late for pick up at nursery,” John said as he settled Isla back into the ring sling. He reached into the front pocket of his bag and held out a card a very confused looking Sherlock. “Here, take my card. I know it seems silly, but you wouldn't believe how convenient it makes playdates! Give me a call if you’re ever out yelling at the shrubbery again, I’m always up for a good rant.” And with wink, John left the cafe and a gaping Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock had no idea what just happened. He had spent his entire life cultivating control over his body and mind. He did not get flustered (or show it, at least). It must be the presence of Lucy. There must be some biological trigger overriding his ability to think and react as he normally would. He took a deep breath to clear his head then looked down at the card in his hand.

John Watson: The Family Manny  
thefamilymanny@gmail.com  
[www.attachedatmyhip.wordpress.com](http://www.attachedatmyhip.wordpress.com)

 _Is he serious?_ Sherlock thought to himself. _The Family Manny? Who comes up with this?_ Sherlock traced John’s steps out the the cafe, and allowed himself to run through the encounter with the “family manny” as he walked home.

There was something about John Watson that Sherlock could not put his finger on. Upon first glance he seemed completely unremarkable. His clothing alone was enough want to avert your eyes from him -- the hideous jumper was a gift from his mother. No, she’s a drunk, but has better taste than that. An elderly aunt then, whose eyesight must be failing -- and that length of fabric he had wound around his body like some sort of toga was enough to distract anyone with an average mind from looking too deeply at the man underneath. And yet Sherlock, in all his genius had been reduced to the ranks of a awkward schoolboy. John Watson was a mystery, and there was nothing that Sherlock craved more than a good mystery.

“Sherlock!” The door to the house opened as Sherlock and Lucy approached. “Where have you been? I thought you would just walk around the block and come back for a sulk. The poor dear must be starving, you've been gone so long!”

“Mrs. Hudson, I do not sulk,” Sherlock replied with more than a little irritation. “I will have you know that Lucy and I had a wonderful morning out. Complete with tea and a bottle. I am not sure what all the fuss is about. If the common citizen is allowed to have possession of an infant, I do not know why you would think that a genius such as myself would find the task outside my ability.” He lifted Lucy out of her carrycot, gently handed her over to the housekeeper, and proceeded to empty his pockets and take off his soiled jacket. “Please send this out with the dry cleaning. Lucy and I did not have a chance to discuss the proper place to spit up before my shoulder was caught in the line of fire.”

Mrs. Hudson poorly stifled a chuckle in Lucy’s neck. “Well it serves your right, running off the nanny. She had the best references of all the baby nurses I interviewed! I don’t know where I am to find a suitable replacement on such short notice. The agency will not be pleased when they hear the horrible things you said to that poor girl!”

“Oh, what do I care what people say about me, Mrs. Hudson? It is not my fault if you hired a girl who can barely take care of herself, let alone a child. And that she crumble into a blubbering heap at the mere mention of her own incompetence and her fiancés dalliances. How could you expect her to last more than a week in this house? I cannot take the blame for this one.” Sherlock said indignantly as he walked out of the foyer. “And never mind a new nurse, just find a decent night nanny.”

Mrs. Hudson called after him, “Oh no, Sherlock Holmes! I have enough on my plate keeping this house in order without the company of an infant, no matter how much I love her. I’m the housekeeper, not the nanny!”

Sherlock walked in and out of several rooms, a growing pile of blankets, books and toys in his arms. “Of course Mrs. Hudson. Don’t be an idiot. I am going to watch Lucy during the day.” And with that he walked into the library, deposited his load and returned to take Lucy in his arms. He settled her on a blanket before retrieving his laptop and sitting down next to her. Mrs. Hudson stood in the door, confusion prominent on her face.

“A cup of tea would be lovely, Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock didn’t even bother to look up from the screen as his fingers began frantically typing on the keyboard. With a sigh, Mrs. Hudson turned and retreated to the kitchen. “Don’t think we aren’t going to talk about this, Sherlock.”

Several minutes later, Mrs. Hudson returned to the library and set down the tea tray with a thump. “Well, I think I know why you want to take charge of Lucy during the day,” she said with a hint of teasing in her voice, holding a small card in her hand. “ _John Watson: The Family Manny_. Very interesting. Did you happen to meet this John Watson while you were out on your promenade? Maybe he convinced you to try your hand at the manny business?”

“He did no such thing. I am quite capable of caring for Lucy during the day. And I can already see that she could be quite useful on cases. I see no reason why we need to invite another person into this house. If that ‘poor baby nurse’ as you called her was the best of the idiots out there claiming to be nannies I would say we are better off without them!” Sherlock barely spared a glance for Mrs. Hudson as he spoke to her, his eyes fixed on the screen before him. He didn’t notice that instead of leaving after his outburst, Mrs. Hudson came behind the couch to look at the screen of his laptop.

“Hm, that’s his [blog](http://attachedatmyhip.wordpress.com), is it? Does he have a picture posted? I’d love to see the man that caught your eye, Sherlock.”

It was confirmed, Mrs. Hudson was teasing him. Sherlock snapped the computer closed and glared up at Mrs. Hudson. “Isn’t there a shelf that needs to be dusted in another room?” he huffed out, clearly trying to be rid of her.

“I’m sure we’ll get this all sorted once your brother comes home,” Mrs. Hudson says on her way out the door.

 


	3. The Consulting Detective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John bumps into Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it seems this story wants to continue. I still have no idea where this is headed (except for the hope of an explicit rating from our dear hannahreiu) but am working on a fourth chapter with no destination in sight, so if you have any dreams for our dear manny and consulting detective, please let me know :)

One week later John found himself back in Regent’s Park trying to convince himself that he wasn’t staring at a hedge in the hopes that a madman with a baby would pop out of it. Really he wasn’t. It was a beautiful autumn day. Certainly there wouldn’t be many more of these as the weather continued to get colder and wetter. He would be a fool to stay indoors on a day like today. If there was a slight lingering hope that he would run into a certain tall dark and handsome man it was completely understandable.

Initial awkwardness aside, John thought that he and Sherlock got on quite well. Even though he knew nothing personal about the man, it was as if they knew each other already and were just back to familiarity with each other. That thought alone gave John pause. Sherlock was still a stranger, intriguing though he was.

Though many people would call John Watson a good friend, there were very few who John would return the designation. It wasn’t that John thought himself better than others or didn’t appreciate his relationships. It was that he was aware that he invested himself so deeply to the people he cared about that he needed to keep people at arms length to avoid being hurt. It still stung how the close friendships of his past changed when paths diverged. Mike went off to train as a doctor and Mary as a nurse. When they met for a pint, John felt as though he wasn’t quite good enough, a ridiculous thought but there none the less.

Glancing at his watch with a sigh, John started to settle Isla back into the ring sling preparing for the walk back to the school. He mentally chided himself for the silly hope that he would run into Sherlock again. It wasn’t as if the man owed John anything. How many nannies and parents had John met over the past few years that he initially got on with only to not contact again. Just because two people both are in the company of a child doesn't mean that they have to be friends.

With that thought, John began walking and talking to Isla about the presentation he was giving at the local library on AP caregiving. He knew it was because he was a rarity as a male caregiver, but John had quickly become somewhat of a celebrity in the child care world through his blog and the nanny agency’s gossip about him. He owed Sarah most of the credit, she was the one who introduced him to babywearing and attachment parenting philosophy. He just happened to have a way with communicating his passion in a very approachable way . . . unless he was talking to tall, fit men with impossibly sharp . . . Nope. He wasn’t going there.

****  


John pushed the door open and walked into the pub, his eyes scanning for an open seat at the bar. It wasn’t his usual night off and he didn’t expect to see any familiar faces that night, yet he found himself looking out of habit. He headed toward the only empty chair when he noticed the back of a head topped with a mop of dark curls; the owner of said curls was seemingly chatting up a woman.

“Is this seat taken?” John slid onto the seat and motioned for pint from the bartender as Sherlock turned towards him, his eyes darting across John’s face and clothing. Recognition and hesitation (and pleasure, maybe) flitting across his features so quickly John wasn’t certain if he had seen or imagined them.

“Ah, John, I didn’t think you were going to make it."

While John was certain he hadn’t made plans with the ever more curious man, he decided to play along. “Well, I was able to get the night off work, so here I am. Cheers,” he said, lifting the pint of beer before taking a drink.

“You didn’t tell me you were meeting someone,” the woman next to Sherlock whined, screwing her face into what John could only imagine she thought was a sexy pout. Removing her hand from his arm without looking back at her, Sherlock held John’s gaze not even trying to mask the intrigue at John’s response.

“Susan was just telling me all about the absolutely horrible boss that she works for. Would you believe that he expects his PA to get his tea?” Sherlock continued to recount the atrocities that

“Susan’s” boss committed (it seems that her name was actually Janine, not that Sherlock cared to acknowledge) and John just sat, sipping his pint trying not to gape at the two people in front of him. When he had finished most of his beer, Sherlock stood abruptly (causing “Susan” to spill her drink) and grabbed John’s elbow.

“Come, John, we have a deadline to meet,” and with that, the tall man turned on his heel, coat swooping behind him, and walked out of the bar. John fumbled with his wallet to leave a couple of pounds on the bar for his beer and made a mumbled apology to the woman who was staring after Sherlock in confusion.

Sherlock was almost a block away by the time John was on the sidewalk. As he started jogging to catch up his mind swirled in confusion. What had just happened there? Maybe a blind date gone bad? But that didn’t account for the way Sherlock was tearing down the street.

“Where exactly are we going?”

“Obvious.”

“No. Really, it’s not. Would you slow down?! Not all of us are giraffes, you know!” John gave a huff as he grabbed Sherlock’s elbow to slow him, as Sherlock gave no indication of doing it himself. “Now what is going on? Who was that woman?”

“What woman?” Sherlock’s brows were furrowed in confusion.

“What woman?! Just now, at the pub . . . the one you were chatting up? Janine? You know what, never mind, she obviously didn’t make an impression on you. Let’s just pretend I don’t know what’s going on here and you can fill me in, yeah?”

“There have been a series of thefts. I’ve narrowed down the suspects to two lawyers, though I am almost certain of the culprit. Of course they are paying someone else to do the actual work. I need to check the calendar of the most likely suspect before I can rule out the other completely. Unfortunately, he is a bit old fashioned and has his secretary keep an actual date book instead of having it online, thus making it necessary to obtain this.” And with a flourish, Sherlock pulled out an identification tag from the pockets of his coat.

“Where on earth did you get that?”

“Obvious, the secretary.”

“Oh, so you weren’t chatting that woman up, you were pickpocketing her . . . Wait a minute, isn’t this a job for the police? Do you work for Scotland Yard? You seem a bit young to be a detective.” John’s face going from amazement to confusion.

“Please,” Sherlock scoffed, “I would never become so desperate to work that abysmal police force. I am a consulting detective, the world’s only, in fact. When the police are out of their depth, which is always, I am the one they turn to. Or at least they will once I get the proof I need to solve this case.”

“But the police don’t consult amateurs,” John said. Sherlock’s face hardened into a blank mask and he took a deep breath.

“When you walked into the pub tonight you glanced around before finding a seat, obviously it’s not your usual night off and while you weren’t expecting to see anyone you know, you wanted to do a check before you sat down. You’re off tonight because the family you work for is out celebrating. Not a birthday, you would have known about that, been invited along even. No, your boss was promoted and invited out to dinner with his bosses family to celebrate. He couldn’t say no to that, so here you are with a free evening. You obviously spent the day out with the baby park. Regents Park again, if I’m not mistaken, which I rarely am. So you see, you were right, the police don’t consult amateurs,” Sherlock ended with a smug grin.

“Still brilliant, you needn’t show off. Now tell me more about this office we are breaking into, I’d like to have an idea of the plan so I know when it starts to go wrong.”

Sherlock stared at John, speechless. John had he feeling that man was not used to his eccentricities being treated in this manner. He grabbed the taller man’s arm again, this time to drag him along, “Come on genius consulting detective, let’s get this cloak and dagger business started, I have to be up with the children at half six tomorrow morning.”

As the two men made their way through London, Sherlock explained the case in more detail. He also mentioned the DS he knew and the different ways he tried to convince that him that his skill set would be a valuable resource for promotions. John could only guess at Sherlock’s set of persuasion skills.

They arrived at the office building and Sherlock used the badge to get into the lobby. John wasn’t sure how they were going to make it past the security guard, until Sherlock completely changed his posture and walked up to the desk looking almost guilty.

“I’ve never done this before, I’m so embarrassed, but . . . OK, here’s the thing. I stole my girlfriends badge . . . Wait! Before you do anything, let me explain. I’m going to propose, and I thought to myself, ‘What would really impress Janine? Proposing to her where we met!’ That’s here! She was an office assistant and I was working as a intern. I startled her and she, well, anyways, here I am. I just need to slip up to her office so when she sits down at her desk she’ll see the ring, and she already thinks I’m out for a pint with my best mate here, John, so, can I just sneak up the lift real quick? It will only take a minute.” Sherlock ended his sham rambling by pasting the world’s most insincere smile on his face. John was actually quite frightened by the sight, but the guard seemed to by it and just waved them to the lifts as he sat back down and got on his iPad again.

John leaned against the wall as the doors closed and let out a little giggle. “That was ridiculous. That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen.”

“And you take care of children for a living,” Sherlock countered with a grin (that was more fitting to his face, John thought).

“Ah, well, what now?”

“Now we go to the secretary’s desk, stage the proposal and steal the date book, of course”

“Steal it! I thought this was just a bit of breaking and entering, I didn’t know we were steal the bloody date book!” John hisses while leaning towards Sherlock.

“The lift isn’t bugged,” Sherlock responds, his voice even, “Ole Jerry won’t be bothered to look up from the porn on is tablet, let alone read our lips through the monitors. The date book is small and will fit into my pocket, undetected. In the morning, after some confusion the secretary will be blamed for her negligence and before she is sent to the stationary shop for a replacement the fine officers of New Scotland Yard will be swooping in to make an arrest. Our theft will be all but unnoticed.”

John sighs, rubbing his palm over his face. “Ok, let’s just get this over with, hm?”

The two men make their way to the secretary’s desk. Sherlock finds the date book while setting a sham ring box on the desk, complete with poem taped to the computer monitor. John wondered what his plan had been if the guard hadn’t let them into the building. Within minutes they were headed back down the lift and out into the London night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find my rantings on all things Sherlock on my [blog](https://fanlock.wordpress.com/2015/02/01/for-the-taking/) or the [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sosicksobeautiful) account that I barely know how to work. And when I say "all things" I really mean a small slice of what I deem obsession worthy and am productive enough to rant about


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